J'zargo Saves the World
by Morninglight
Summary: J'zargo is the Dragonborn. Shenanigans ensue. Brief mention of drug use.


Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Since I deleted the Aureliiverse after the muse just died of shame after what a Mary Sueish mess it had become, I have been seized by another idea. Humour and crack. Enjoy!

…

"J'zargo is an apprentice in good standing at the College of Winterhold! He is no Stormcloak!"

It had been really unfair being sent out by Mirabelle Erskine to run common errands after a little incident involving Onmund, a draugr-barrow and untested Flame Cloak scrolls. J'zargo was innocent of the young Nord looking like a singed beetroot. He had warned Onmund of potential trouble.

And now the Legionnaires were going to execute him just because J'zargo had been in the same area as several Stormcloaks, including their leader the great and terrible Ulfric. J'zargo personally thought the Nords needed more moon sugar in their diet and maybe they wouldn't be so uptight about little things like the technical ownership of small valuable objects that were obviously magical. Most of these Nords didn't appreciate good enchanting and J'zargo did – it was obviously Azurah's will they fell into his hands!

"J'zargo has a question," he muttered to the Stormcloak sitting across from him. "Would the honourable Stormcloak mind if J'zargo sets a few Legionnaires on fire?"

"Make one of them General Tullius and I'll name you in my prayers to Talos," the golden-haired man replied with a grin.

"J'zargo will be happy to oblige." He would be a very poor mage if he couldn't manage to get the bonds off his hands.

They rolled into town and within short order were being lined up for the headsman's block. General Tullius, a dour Colovian who smelt like rotten fish like so many who loved their fish sauce, told Ulfric he was a murderer and all sorts of very unpleasant things. If Torygg had been even half as smart and cunning as one of the fairest of races, he would have kept his throne. J'zargo had accepted that most of the people in Skyrim were not nearly as intelligent as he; much to his chagrin, he discovered it wasn't as much fun to trick them because it was so easy.

It was J'zargo's turn to be decapitated (he had to give the Stormcloak who went before him points for annoying the Imperials and exiting with some stylish, albeit typically Nord last words) when a big black dragon came along and set fire to everything. J'zargo was of mixed feelings: he appreciated the rescue but he would have preferred to be doing the fire-setting himself. He was the best Destruction mage other than Faralda at Winterhold, after all.

On the upside, following Ralof the Stormcloak meant that he got to set fire to a few Legionnaires. They made it through Helgen and lacking any other option, J'zargo followed Ralof home, making the silent promise he wouldn't rob the Nord or his kin. Khajiit had honour after all.

The next day J'zargo got to meet the Jarl and explain the very terrible attack on Helgen, making all the appropriate noises. Jarl Balgruuf rewarded him with leather armour and sent him on another task to find a Dragonstone in a draugr-barrow. It sounded magical and useful, and if J'zargo found it before anyone else, they would recognise he was the greatest mage in Winterhold.

Day after that, having practiced his Flame Cloak and Fireball spells in Bleak Falls Barrow, he returned in triumph and was dispatched to kill a dragon. J'zargo sighed and wondered if Nords could actually get anything done for themselves.

It appeared that Mirmulnir the dragon was unhappy to see J'zargo as Akatosh realised that He needed a member of the fairest of races to save the world from being eaten by Alduin. Mirmulnir tasted a bit like fish scale, which was disappointing because J'zargo was very sick of salmon and wanted some nicer fish, maybe from Cyrodiil. He really needed to work on his Conjuration skills.

Now the Dragonborn, J'zargo became a Thane of Whiterun and received a nice set of muscles to carry heavy things for him in the form of Lydia, his huscarl. That was good because the walk to High Hrothgar was very long and annoying, the Greybeards nearly as tiresome as Tolfdir about power and responsibility, and only too happy to send him on more errands to prove his worthiness.

J'zargo figured he should return to Winterhold and tell the Arch-Mage what happened, though he couldn't for the life of him figure out why half the faculty broke out the mead and wine stocks. The Dragonborn was one of their apprentices!

A few more incidents – the Thalmor Ancano trying to end the world, J'zargo breaking into their embassy and frying a lot of them at Northwatch Keep because they kept on trying to kill him (and something about rescuing a man too, he thought) – and he was being followed around by people who called themselves Blades. They wanted him to kill a dragon called Paarthunax but since J'zargo had not been attacked by the dragon, it would have been very rude to eat his soul. Khajiit had standards, after all.

Several hundred fireballs and three trips later, J'zargo had himself an Elder Scroll. Carrying around magical artefacts wasn't as fun as he thought it would be so he sold it to Urag once he'd learned a Shout that grounded Alduin and set him on fire. The dovah ran, which was the first sensible behaviour J'zargo had seen since Paarthunax decided to permanently sunbake on a mountain. For some reason, dragons seemed to think the Dragonborn was a good person to attack. J'zargo wound up learning many Shouts that way.

Then he had to try and talk the Empire and the Stormcloaks into a truce because Jarl Balgruuf wouldn't let him borrow the dragon-trap on his Great Porch without it happening. Something about Markarth for Riften, compensation for somewhere called Karthwasten and Ulfric Shouting Elenwen off the mountain followed. J'zargo approved of the last development.

The Dragonborn was left wondering why he had to pay a thousand septims for setting fire to a guard accidentally while fighting Odahviing. He didn't know that Yol was so… fiery. He looked forward to learning the rest of the Shout.

J'zargo went to Sovngarde, no doubt disappointing both the Nords and his ancestors, and met Tsun. Who praised him for practicing the Clever Craft. Apparently Nords got smarter after death. Go figure.

J'zargo could have handled Alduin on his own but it would have been very rude not to invite the three who cast the World-Eater on the winds of time. They were passingly useful – for Nords.

J'zargo returned home to a chant of praise from a group of dragons – no doubt pleased to be free of the World-Eater – and a lecture from Arngeir about something involving tyranny. He ignored it. Winterhold needed a new Arch-Mage and who better than the Khajiit who had saved the world?

…

"Uhhh… What did J'zargo drink last night?"

J'zargo awoke from a strange dream where he was all-powerful and Arch-Mage, blinking blearily as the smudged colours before him resolved into the too-familiar face of Tolal, one of the other apprentices. One of those weird racial mixes that could only come from Cyrodiil with her Orcish huge eyes and wide mouth but the olive-bronze complexion of an Imperial. She had nice under-fangs for someone not from the fairest of races though.

"Onmund slipped some moonshine into your moon-sugar tea," she growled in that husky Orc voice, tone not unsympathetic. In fact, it sounded positively amused, a rare thing for the woman to be. "It made… for some entertaining moments."

J'zargo's ears flattened as he accepted her healing potion. "This one is afraid to ask."

"I can only assume that Tolfdir's lecture on the Prophecy of the Dragonborn made an impression on you," Tolal continued with amusement. "You declared yourself Thane of Whiterun, Slayer of Alduin and rightful Arch-Mage of Winterhold. You called me, Onmund and Brelyna Gormlaith, Felldir and Haakon respectively, turned Ancano into an ice statue and told Tolfdir that the Dragonborn required no advice from the Greybeards. Oh, and you have a thousand septim bounty in Winterhold because you cast Fireball on Malur and he accidentally set the Jarl's Longhouse on fire."

"Err, did anybody die?" J'zargo asked cautiously.

"Only Ancano. And he was a Thalmor so it's just assault."

J'zargo sighed in relief. He would manage to find a way to pay the bounty. Somehow. "Is J'zargo being asked to leave the College?" It would be very hard to learn magic somewhere else as the Synod and the College of Whispers were strangely touchy about who practiced sorcery.

"Heavens, no!" Tolal grinned, the expression giving her an unfortunate resemblance to a frog. Not that J'zargo would tell her that. Khajiit were polite to members of the lesser races who were useful, after all. "We haven't had this much entertainment since you set Onmund on fire last week."

"J'zargo is relieved. May J'zargo go back to sleep now?"

The greatest mage in Winterhold was so exhausted he missed Tolal casting. Calm and relieved, he slipped off into dreams where he was the all-powerful Arch-Mage of Winterhold, as he rightfully should be.

…

"J'zargo is an apprentice in good standing at the College of Winterhold! He is no Stormcloak!"

Ralof sighed as he was carted towards his death. At least Khajiit wouldn't go to Sovngarde…


End file.
